The front of the house was equally as stunning as the back. The windows were smaller, but there was an impressive set of wooden steps leading up to a double-wide front door, an extensive vegetable plot on one side and what appeared to be a workshop and log store on the other.
The overall impression was tranquil, organised, nature-friendly living. It looked amazing.
As I approached the house, lugging a cool bag crammed with foil cartons, there was a soft woof behind me, and I turned to see the collies sitting calmly on the gravel by the workshop. A couple of seconds later, Sam emerged from its open roll-top door, wiping his hands on a towel. He was wearing a chequered shirt again, over dark green shorts, and I had to redirect my brain away from the memory of what he looked like underneath it.
‘Hey!’ He broke out into a smile that was far from warranted, given previous events. I was starting to realise that Sam’s default mood was happy.
‘Hi.’ I managed a nod, but not quite a smile, in return. For now I was relieved not to have imploded into a gibbering heap of humiliation.
‘No Nesbit?’ He grinned, walking over to join me at the bottom of the steps.
I shook my head firmly. ‘He’s enjoying the confinement of my garden.’
‘So my chickens are safe for now?’ he asked, eyes sparkling in a way that lit up my rebellious heart. ‘I think they were fearing for their lives after last night’s invasion. Tom would have readily singled one out for sacrifice if he could have persuaded someone else to be executioner.’
‘You have live chickens?’
‘Six, out the back. Purely for the eggs, though.’
‘Lovely!’ I nodded, before finding that my ability to converse had absconded, replaced by an inexplicable compulsion to keep nodding.
‘Can I help you with that? It looks heavy,’ Sam said, thankfully breaking the nodding loop by gesturing to the cool bag.
‘Actually, it’s for you. Well, you and your family. I didn’t get a chance to count heads yesterday, but I’ve gone for a generous ten.’
‘Eleven.’ He gave me a hopeful look. ‘Is it edible?’
‘I sincerely hope so.’ I tried to hold out the bag, but it was too heavy so I ended up dropping it at his feet.
‘Tell me more.’ Sam smiled so wide that a dimple appeared on one cheek. I tried not to stare.
‘Okay, I’ve roasted two organic chickens with a few herbs and lemon. There’s classic potato and then sweet potato and feta salads, apple and sultana coleslaw, a tomatoey thing, some honey mustard cocktail sausages – outdoor-bred pork, of course. Rosemary focaccia, rye sourdough… um… some couscous, lemon drizzle cheesecake and chocolate brownies.’
Sam stared at me for a moment, his frozen smile in contrast to furrowed eyebrows. ‘A chicken would have been more than enough.’
I shrugged. ‘Not really, though. That was genuinely one of the most appalling moments of my life. I will remember it and shudder for the rest of my days. And I wrecked your special night, not just a chicken.’
Sam shook his head. ‘It was fine. There was plenty of other stuff to eat.’
‘Your family were fuming, though – and rightly so.’ I paused, unsure about whether to continue. ‘Your dad seemed annoyed at you.’
If annoyed could also mean disapproving and overbearing.
Sam sighed, the smile finally disappearing. ‘He’d have found something to complain about. Nesbit just made it sooner rather than later. Look.’ He fixed his eyes, almost amber in the sunlight, on me. ‘Accidents happen. No harm intended and no real harm done. I fully accept your apology, and would like to move past the whole thing, so if this elaborate and unnecessary feast means you can do that, then fine, I graciously accept that, too.’
I scrunched up my face, still reluctant to let myself off this easily.
‘To be honest, I was far more miffed about you mowing me down with a manky mattress,’ Sam said with a wink.
I burst into surprised laughter. ‘That was you miffed? I’d hate to see you on a really bad day.’
‘Ask anyone, I have a fearsome reputation around these parts.’
‘Wild man of the forest?’
Sam grinned. ‘Maybe.’
We shared another potent silence, while I wrestled between acting like a normal, socially intelligent person by saying goodbye, and wanting to stay and chat more with what I was hopeful might become another new friend.
After a while, Sam returned to the sort-of-smile-combined-with-furrowed-brow face. ‘I have to say, however, that Parker family gatherings are mercifully rare. It’s virtually impossible to get us all together in one place at the same time without weeks of logistical gymnastics by my mother. And, if I’m honest, this food sounds too good to waste on my grumpy brothers, even if they were prepared to drag themselves out here for the second time in three years. I think the only viable solution is that you stay and help me eat it.’
‘I can’t do that!’
‘Why not?’
‘The whole point was to replace the meal I ruined, not invite myself round for dinner.’
‘You didn’t invite yourself, I invited you.’ Sam picked up the cool bag and started walking up the steps to the house, his dogs falling in perfect line behind him. ‘I’ll give Mum whatever’s left; she’ll try to refuse but I’ll just dump it in her kitchen and run.’
He opened the front door, glancing back with a look of such open good cheer that before I could protest any further, my feet followed him right inside.
We took our loaded plates along with a pitcher of peach iced tea out onto the porch, and sat at a table with surprisingly comfortable wooden chairs.
‘These are great,’ I exclaimed, sitting back and stroking the arms.
‘Thanks.’ Sam grinned.
‘Where did you get them? I just bought a couple of chairs and table for my garden, but I really need two more.’
‘Here,’ he replied, pointing the chunk of potato on the end of his fork at the trees to one side of us.
‘They’re made from Bigley Forest trees?’ I asked, impressed.
‘Yep.’
‘So where could I get some from, given that my city girl skills don’t include turning a tree into a comfy chair?’
He shrugged. ‘I can knock you a couple of chairs up. Let me know when you need them by.’
‘You made these chairs.’
The dimple was back.
‘You really are the wild man of the forest.’
‘Apparently so.’
We chatted for a while about the other things he’d made (which turned out to be most of his house, as well various pieces of furniture for friends and family). It was nice. Very nice. And remarkedly non-awkward, considering that I was eating dinner in a beautiful setting with a man who looked like Mr May Forest Ranger. After a lifetime of meals rife with subtext, emotional manipulation and self-absorption, this was refreshingly pleasant. The more time I spent with Sam, the more I hoped we would become genuine friends.